Khushhal Basti

A few blocks from the city, on a dry, barren patch of land, stood numerous slums. The people living there eked out a living through manual labor. Housewives, too, would go about their routine daily routines, chatting among themselves. Their children would also sit side by side or play around.Naked or wrapped in tattered clothes, the children would each have a piece of dry bread in their hand, while others would have something else. When the children played, they would often quarrel, and if a fight broke out, the elders would hardly remain silent, meaning even the elders would inevitably quarrel. Sometimes, the conflict would escalate to the point where the men would be dragged into the conflict. Thus, each day passed in the same way, but the funny thing was that they had no complaints about this pattern of their lives.The place where this slum was located also had a road. Every day, a girl would pass by that road riding her bicycle, carrying a basket containing some books.The girl had a fixed time for her journey. Every day, she would look at the people of that slum and wonder, what kind of life do these people live? They have no understanding that human life is precious, but what kind of life are they living?When the people of that slum saw that girl passing by, they would think, How beautiful is this girl? From this very book